Well, I Believe

Well, I Still Believe

Its been a little while since I've sat down and done one of these.  When I decided I should post a new one, I realized this is like my simple way of saying the things I am grateful for, long for and am excited for... perhaps these "I Believes" are a simple version of my prayers.

So, today, here is what I, Sherry, believe.

Well, I believe in singing along.
In war movies, Crystal Light packets and twin souls.
I believe in the twinkle in his eyes and the one sided grin.

Well, I believe in writing letters.
In Diorshow mascara, iTunes and wicked smart people.
I believe in the power of friendships, the comfort in old ones and the hope in new ones.

Well, I really believe in that breathless moment right before you kiss.
In Jeremiah 29:11, MacBook Pros and personal fans.
I still believe, despite it all, in butterflies.

Well, I believe I am blessed.
In soul mates, work besties, and hearing J & G say "I love you, Aunt Sherry"
And I still really, really believe in that breathless moment right before you kiss.

Well, I believe in the Texas Longhorns.
In the wishbone offense, the Louis Vitton Artsy Bag and Benadryl.
And I still believe in holding hands as much as possible.

Well, I believe above all that the Lord has a plan for me.
In the amazing people I've met, in the challenges I have faced and
I believe and look forward to the adventures to come.

The Thrill of Victory

Today was an incredible day for Dallas sports.  Yes, you read that correctly Dallas sports.  In the Cotton Bowl Baylor gave Tech a run for their money.  In the new Cowboys stadium Texas A&M faced off against Arkansas and just across the street in the ballpark the Rangers played with heart but failed.  If you are a sports lover like I am, then perhaps you appreciated the traffic on 30 as I did.  Perhaps you reveled in the fact that that in your hometown the seasons were crossing and fall was in full swing.

Me, I spent my day watching all of these things happen with the most amazing “almost 3 year olds” that I know.  They were donned in their spirit wear, but didn’t fully understand its implications.

Today, sports fans, the nations #1 ranked team was felled by an unexpected opponent.  If you are a Longhorn like me, you loved the fact the impenetrable defense of the Alabama Crimson Tide was indeed penetrated.  You loved the unexpected upset that is the spirit of college football.  You, like me, rooted for a team that was little known to you – the South Carolina Gamecock. 

You, like me had trouble deciding which television set to watch… the baseball game or the football game.  And for a little while, like me, your worldly troubles disappeared.

They disappeared into the abyss that is the competitive nature of athletics.  Where it doesn’t matter if yesterday you couldn’t stop thinking about your broken heart.  Where it doesn’t matter that you don’t know where you are headed.  Where it doesn’t matter that you haven’t achieved everything you thought you should.

Because today, on those fields of green, hearts were broken, entire teams realized they didn’t know where they were headed and entire teams realized that they did not achieve everything that they should.  Today, you were not alone.  Entire teams were with you.

That’s the brilliance of a really great sports day… its not the technical aspects of the games or the coaching.  It’s the fact that for a few shining moments there are teams of people trying to achieve just like you are in life.  For those few moments, hopes and dreams hang in the balance just like they do for each of us.  For those few moments, we can suspend ourselves in the hopes and dreams of others.  We can find glory and we can find heartbreak.  Just like in life.

So today, at the very least, for me… these great games, these great glories and loses mirrored my own life.  And just like the Rangers and the Crimson Tide, I will awake tomorrow with the hope of future glory.  Knowing that today I learned lessons that no teacher could have taught and I felt disappointment like no one could ever explain.  But tomorrow, oh tomorrow, we’ll all look at what we did, we’ll learn from it and we’ll live on for another day and another game.  Tomorrow is pure and ready for new start. 

And on Saturday, we won’t be the same as we were today -  we’ll be better, stronger, faster and smarter.  At the end of today… at the end of defeat… we’ll hope again for victory and maybe, just maybe it will be ours again on Saturday.

Every Hat Serves a Purpose

Today's musings will be quick. They won't be that philosophical.  Its just a little something that's been on my mind today. 

Hats.

Yes, hats.  I have an enormous head, so hats are not part of my wardrobe.  And I think that makes me quite sad.  The only hat that I have the potential to pull off is a baseball hat.  And even then it just accentates the largeness of my head.

I am not kidding about the size of my head.  A friend once that tried to make me feel better about it and was like, "no really, your head is totally normal.  We'll measure it and then we'll measure my husbands."  She believed that her husband's head was abnormally large.  I think she used the term freakishly big.  Since I'd had a daquiri or two, I agreed.

Our heads were exactly the same size.

I have these day dreams where I am in Paris with Mr. Right and I am wearing a beret. Or I am at the beach and I am wearing one of the giant floppy straw hats.  And I always look stunning in them.  That's the beauty of daydreams - we can be and look exactly how we want.  We can be hat people.

In life, though, I am not a hat person.  And frankly, there are a lot of people that are out wearing hats and they shouldn't be.  The teenagers with them turned askew. The guys that wear them with there bangs sticking out.  Or that don't curl the bill.  The guys that wear fedoras or those golf hats.  Only old men like my Uncle Bill should wear those hats.

And cowboy hats... ok, this post might not actually be quick.  Cowboy hats.  If you don't know how to wear it.  Well, then you probably shouldn't be wearing it.  The rule is that simple. Felt in the fall, straw in the summer.  If you are a girl, yes, you can wear one of those cute ones that turns up.  But wear it well.  Worn poorly, you just look slutty.

So I have no idea why hats have been on my mind today, but they have.  So I've come to the cosmic void to say... that every hat serves a purpose and if you are wearing a hat with no purpose... then perhaps you should take it off.

I need for each and every one of us to accept that we are not all hat people.  We can't be.  If we were then there would just be hats everywhere.

So I am going to refrain from trying to make a beret look decent on my giant head if you'll all agree to do the same.  Except for the Derby.  At the Derby... we should all aspire to be hat people.

This post loving dedicated to Katie Solan, who is a hat person, and wears them well. Hipster Fedora included.

Signs

I am 33 years old. And by the world’s standards, today, I am less mature and successful than I was at 23.  And I haven’t quite decided how to handle that.  So I am going to leave the country.

In case you’ve missed the updates, posts, pictures, or haven’t spoken to me…I’ve packed my belongings and I’ve moved back to Dallas.  I am living in my sister’s spare room.  I am not working but on October 16 I am going to Costa Rica to help build an orphanage. There’s a really good chance that I will try to bring a Costa Rican kid back home with me.  Madonna did it.  Why can’t I?

You know why I can’t … not because I lack Madonna’s star power but because Big Sara has forbidden it. 

    Me:  I am just worried that I am going to try to bring home some Costa Rican kid to raise.

    Big Sara:  Not this trip, Sherry.  Not this trip.

Swear to God, actual phone transcript from last night.  Like I was saying I was going to bring home pineapple from Hawaii, or squeeze in an extra day in Stuutgart.  The trip is neither here nor there right now.  The trip is just one part of a number of things happening in my life right now.  Like trying to follow a pipe dream, and write a book.  Why is it called a pipe dream?   I’ve written six chapters and now have no idea where its going.  What if I can only write half a book and never come up with an ending?  That would be just like me… like most things I’ve done in my life.  I start big and taper off…

I honestly don’t know if any of the decisions that I have made in the past month are the right ones.  I don’t know if I am running away from my troubles and just keep running farther and farther away or if I have suddenly stopped and am willing to find myself.

Am I seeking out God’s plan for my life or just trying a totally different Sherry plan for my life? I have no idea.

Do any of us?  Do any of us really have a clue what we are doing?  Or have we all just happened upon greatness?  Like finding love.  What are the odds?  I mean really.  What are the odds that when you meet someone they might actually be the one?  What are the odds of my friends that met in the 9^th grade being soul mates?  I don’t even like who I was in the ninth grade, so I can’t fathom someone else liking me enough to stick with me until now.

Or finding your passion?  What are the odds that when you select your degree in college that its actually going to turn out to be what you love to do?  It baffles my mind.  Like people that become doctors… that at 18 years old they knew what they wanted to be.  And then they did it.   It makes me want to ask my OB/GYN if she’s really passionate about her work?  But how am I supposed to broach that subject with my legs thrown up into stirrups wearing only a paper gown and her hands up my va jay jay.  Talk about awkward.

    Me:  So, Dr. Hardwick-Smith, are you passionate about you are doing? 

    Dr. H-S:  About your pap smear? No, Sherry, this isn't actually my passion.  But thanks so much                     for asking.  

And as a slight tangent, and something that just came to my mind...  Why in God’s name do I call someone that’s had their hands up my hoo-ha by a title and their last name?  Really?  I mean, really?  At this point I should have a pet name for her and I should at least know something about her family. Right? But nope, it all titles and last names with us.  Huh. But I digress.

Back to the idea of making all these choices and wondering if the are right… I guess what I am wondering right now is if I am actually paralyzed by the fear of making more wrong choices?  That I want and need some kind of sign that these choices, these chances that I am taking are the right ones and that things are going to work out. 

Some kind of sign that tells me that I’ll know my passion.  Some kind of sign that tells me that I’ll find love.  Some kind of sign that tells me that the path to both those things absolutely runs through the spare room at my sister’s house.

And as a bonus, Big Sara would probably welcome a sign that said “don’t bring back a Costa Rican kid.”

 

From the Road...

This morning started great. I woke up before the alarm - ready to go. John came over and helped load my car onto the trailer. Which was great until I blinded him with the headlights and then I tried to open to door to get out. The door only opens a crack and hits the side of the trailer. Shit balls.

This is important for two reasons. One, at 6:30 this morning if you were on Lawrence Street you saw a black lab named Tugger jump out an open car window into a man's arms. And then you saw me slide out the driver's side window like I was Bo, mother f-ing, Duke. Though I was far less graceful and my jeans weren't as tight. Second, I hadn't loaded ANY of my clothes into said trailered vehicle yet. Shit balls.

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully with the exception of loading a closet full of clothes into a Honda Accord using on the windows and sunroof while chained to a trailer. And a temporary setback in the form of me having a panic attack about all these changes. So I flipped out and cried for a little bit. The tile on my kitchen floor is quite cold and felt so comforting. It really did. Back to loading the car.

But hey, it's still early and this is a new start. Shit.

I hit the road at a little before 11. Quick stop on the way out and bam 11:15 - Interstate 45 North.

It's now 11:55 and I am sitting at a discount tire. Because about one mile into my new start, the back tire on the f-ing trailer blew. Into about million pieces. Which was fine, because I was already crying from my panic attack this morning and hadn't stopped. Right now, I am waiting for them to put a new tire on the trailer that actually isn't even the right size - it's a half an inch bigger but nowhere in Houston has the right size.

So this will get me to Dallas according to my new friend Mike at Discount Tires. I think Mike at Discount Tires is scared of me. Not because I am mean but because I was just crying so much. The hiccup really startled him. And its hard to explain to him that, yes, the tire is upsetting but I am crying because I don't feel like I have closure. But I mean, what is closure anyway? I think it's something women made up to make us feel better about being depressed. But again, Mike didn't need that information. He just needed the tire size.

Apparently the secret to getting good service at car places is to just cry and hiccup. It makes them work REALLY FAST.

God hates me. But I don't think Mike at Discount Tires does. I think he pities me. I wonder if he's single.

Post Lunch Revelations

One of the things that I will miss most about Houston and mostly The Planet is that I am surrounded by people that find the coolest things and share them with me.  My co-worker (and friend) Neal finds a lot of them, Mensa Kevin finds me tons of things.  I'll miss the spontaneity of having a lunchtime conversation and then shortly getting an email that has some cool speech, video or cartoon that reinforces whatever we just talked about.

One of my favorite post lunch finds was when for some reason; Mensa Kevin broke out into gospel music in the car on the way back to the office.  Then Neal clapped in the right spots of the song.  Katie and I had no idea what they were doing.  Shortly, upon arrival back, Mensa Kevin had the clip from Glory when they sing "O My Lord, Lord, Lord, Lord" around the campfire.  Now the four of will spontaneously break out into the gospel singing and clapping.  It confuses everyone else around us.

Since I am preparing for quite a bit of change in the near future, lunch today talked a lot about what I've learned professionally about myself the past two years and what I wanted to do with my life.

When we got back to work, my friend Neal shared an excerpt with me from a Milton Glaser speech.  First, I had to Google who the hell Milton was.  Apparently, he's a totally badass graphic designer.  He seems pretty smart.  The speech is called Ten Things I Have Learned.   

Here's the full link to the speech but I thought I'd share a couple of my favorites from it with you, too.  Milton's Speech Text.

YOU CAN ONLY WORK FOR PEOPLE THAT YOU LIKE.
This is a curious rule and it took me a long time to learn because in fact at the beginning of my practice I felt the opposite. Professionalism required that you didn’t particularly like the people that you worked for or at least maintained an arm’s length relationship to them, which meant that I never had lunch with a client or saw them socially. Then some years ago I realized that the opposite was true. I discovered that all the work I had done that was meaningful and significant came out of an affectionate relationship with a client. And I am not talking about professionalism; I am talking about affection. I am talking about a client and you sharing some common ground. That in fact your view of life is someway congruent with the client, otherwise it is a bitter and hopeless struggle.

SOME PEOPLE ARE TOXIC AVOID THEM.
This is a subtext of number one. There was in the sixties a man named Fritz Perls who was a gestalt therapist. . Perls proposed that in all relationships people could be either toxic or nourishing towards one another. It is not necessarily true that the same person will be toxic or nourishing in every relationship, but the combination of any two people in a relationship produces toxic or nourishing consequences. And the important thing that I can tell you is that there is a test to determine whether someone is toxic or nourishing in your relationship with them. Here is the test: You have spent some time with this person, either you have a drink or go for dinner or you go to a ball game. It doesn’t matter very much but at the end of that time you observe whether you are more energized or less energized. Whether you are tired or whether you are exhilarated. If you are more tired then you have been poisoned. If you have more energy you have been nourished. The test is almost infallible and I suggest that you use it for the rest of your life.

PROFESSIONALISM IS NOT ENOUGH
Early in my career I wanted to be professional, that was my complete aspiration in my early life because professionals seemed to know everything - not to mention they got paid for it. Later I discovered after working for a while that professionalism itself was a limitation. After all, what professionalism means in most cases is diminishing risks. So if you want to get your car fixed you go to a mechanic who knows how to deal with transmission problems in the same way each time. I suppose if you needed brain surgery you wouldn’t want the doctor to fool around and invent a new way of connecting your nerve endings. Please do it in the way that has worked in the past.
Unfortunately in our field, in the so-called creative – I hate that word because it is misused so often. I also hate the fact that it is used as a noun. Can you imagine calling someone a creative? Anyhow, when you are doing something in a recurring way to diminish risk or doing it in the same way as you have done it before, it is clear why professionalism is not enough. After all, what is required in our field, more than anything else, is the continuous transgression. Professionalism does not allow for that because transgression has to encompass the possibility of failure and if you are professional your instinct is not to fail, it is to repeat success. So professionalism as a lifetime aspiration is a limited goal.

Basically, friends, I liked what ole Milt had to say.  He said things I think just much more eloquently.  So give him a read, cause someday when I am famous I'll probably give a speech a lot like this one.

And Still I Rise

Tonight I started to finally pack.  I’ve been packing since about 5:30 pm and I have one and half boxes packed.  The challenge is that I started packing my bookshelves.  And as a book lover every shelf holds a treasure that I need to flip through or at least re-read the first page.

Like my torn and worn copy of A Prayer for Owen Meany.  I read my first of John Irving’s novels the summer before my junior year of high school.  It has, since the moment that I finished it been my favorite book.  I still re-read every year around my birthday.  The copy I have lacks a back cover and is taped together.  The pages have notes and highlights written in my high school hand.  It is like an old friend.  It seems wrong to pack it away in a box that will sit in storage for the next few months.  Like it deserves better than that.  So I sat an re-read the first chapter again.  And I quickly remembered why I loved it so much.  Its one of the very best first lines of a book ever.

“I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice – not because of his voice, or because he was the smallest person I ever knew, or even because he was the instrument of my mother’s death, but because he is the reason I believe in God; I am a Christian because of Owen Meany.”

How great would it be to have someone remember you that way?  Not really for anything about you except that you brought them faith.  That you believe in God because of another person.  It seems such an amazing thing to give to someone. 

And then I found a book of poetry by Maya Angelou.  And I had truly forgotten how much I love her work.  How is resonates with every part of my being.  I was never a poetry reader or writer.  But tonight when I read her words again… they sounded different to me.  More powerful.  More meaningful.  So tonight I share two poems with you that I just couldn’t stop reading.  I read them over and over and over again and I somehow believe that I’ll go get in bed and read them again.

Maybe just maybe tomorrow I will work on memorizing them.  So that I can be one of those people that can rattle of poetry in an instance and everyone around me will think that I am brilliant.

Sense of Insecurity
I couldn’t tell fact from fiction
Or if my dream was true,
The only sure prediction
In this whole world was you.
I’d touched your features inchly
Heard love and dared the cost.
The scented spiel reeled me unreal
And found my senses lost.

And Still I Rise
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words
You may cute me with your eyes
You may kill me with your hatefulness
But still, like air, I rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise.
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors game
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise.
I rise.
I rise.

And I’ll be totally honest I don’t really identify with being a black ocean or being the dream and the hope of the slave.  But I know the feeling of wanting to hold your head up high and say “I Rise”

I rise.

In Her Shoes

Right now is an interesting time in my life.  I am preparing to say goodbye, starting to pack boxes and throwing things away.  I am once again filled with excitement and sadness all at the same time.  I had a bittersweet surprise this weekend and all my kiddos came into town.  It made me so excited to head back home.  Just knowing that I am going to get to watch their little hearts grow and be close to them made me very, very happy.  I keep picturing and imaging my future life… and in all my daydreams I am in these shoes.

  Interestingly enough I can’t afford $1,000 shoes now, not sure how I plan to buy them once I am not working.  Never mind that I can’t walk in 4 inch heels and that I’ll have nowhere to wear them.  Nonetheless, I am wearing them in all my daydreams about the future.

As I leave, though, I am filled with some regrets too.  Regrets that stay top of my mind and that I have the sudden urge to fix in the next 16 days.  Like friendships that started here but tapered off, while I know it is the ebb and flow of life its still hard not to wish some things had been different.  As I pack up the memories of the past two years I feel the overwhelming need to reach out to them and let them know how they shaped my time here and how they shaped me. 

Simple regrets like the career ups and downs that I faced in such a short time; how I regret the way some of it all went down but I wouldn’t change the learning that I gained from it.  On some level I think I regret that I never really gave this all a chance – that I always knew it wasn’t permanent.  That I was just visiting for awhile and would go back home.  I regret some of the things I invested too much time in and gave too much of myself for because now I am leaving disappointed that those things haven’t worked out .

For a few days I have stewed about my regrets but now I am just sending them out into the cosmic void.  I want to focus on the things that have changed me, made me better… if I had not moved to Houston and finally had moments in the day not filled with work… well, I wouldn’t have ever started this silly little blog.  I would never have discovered that I am truly at my happiest when I am writing.  That I can make myself laugh out loud.  I wouldn’t have discovered my faith in Christ again.  I would never have learned that I only have two requirements for a job – doing something I am passionate about  and working for someone that I know without question is smarter than me.  I would not have realized that as scared as I am, as much self doubt as I have, that I have gifts to give.  I sometimes regret that I left Dallas and a wonderful career in its high stride.  I regret that I haven’t felt successful at anything here in Houston.  I regret that I missed 2 years of my kiddos growing up. 

Instead of wallowing in these regrets,  I plan to revel in the fact that I found a new me.  Discovered that I am filled with joy and still a little snarky.  That this new me sees and treats people differently and is more open to new people.  That the new me is willing to take great risks for great rewards.  And that this me is willing to do anything to find happiness.

Mostly  I love that this me, this me that has failed, been hurt, disappointed and heartbroken is okay.  She is better than okay.  She is changed.  She is content.

And she is really looking forward to learning how to walk in 4 inch heels that cost as much as a transmission.

Two Roads

Many of my adoring public have been asking for the scoop on my decision to come on back to Dallas.  I have emails and voicemails to return, so I thought I would be lazy and share it here on my blog.

Frankly, I miss home.  Houston has been a wonderful and rich experience.  I have made friends that I know will be lifelong friends.  I am not worried about a four hour stretch of highway changing those relationships.  But along this journey I have learned a lot about myself.  Mostly that I want passion.  Not like that.  Perverts.

I want to be passionate about the things I am doing, the life I am leading and where I am heading.  I’ve enjoyed my work here and absolutely love the people that I work with – they are fun, energetic and wicked smart.

With all the things going in my life, now seemed like the stupidest possible time to make a big change.  So I did. Cause that’s how I roll.  If it seems like the worst possible plan ever – then I want to try to do it. There isn’t a big mystery or dramatic diagnosis or anything like that.  Very simply I found the courage to take one of Frost’s “Two Roads that Diverged in a Wood”… mine just happens to be Interstate 45 North.

I have no idea where this road will take me except home. I don’t know what work I’ll do – I am considering a whole bunch of things.  Maybe I’ll be like the chick in Eat Pray Love and just take off and travel for a year.  However, I don’t know if there is a Four Seasons in Bali. Maybe I’ll try to write the great American novel.  Maybe, I’ll run a marathon.  Okay, a half marathon.  I don’t know. I just know that wherever this road is leading that I am surrounded by family and friends that love me and support me.  Especially my brother-in-law who is giving me a home for a while.  Bless his heart, he’s never seen sisters fight.  This could be interesting.

For most of this year, I have longed to be back in Dallas.  Each time I went home the trip was more and more bittersweet.  I love seeing everyone and hated to leave.  I would cry most of the way back to Houston and it would take me about a week to get over being homesick.

Two years ago I took a chance and moved to a new place and tried new things.  I am forever changed by the people I’ve met … “as iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another – Proverbs 27:17”.  I don’t want to undo any of these changes, forget any of my moments or memories and I would not erase a single experience from the past two years.

To each of you in Houston that have been a part of my life here (however long or short) – I will forever owe you a debt of gratitude – for your generous acceptance, for your laughs, for challenging me in new ways, for sharing in each of my new experiences, for growing my faith, for reading this blog, for comforting me in times of need and homesickness, for embracing the crazy of me, for sharing of yourself, but most of all, for loving me without question.

-          Sherbear

P.S.  And don't worry Houstonians... you've still got a month of my crazy and Dallasites, you still have a month to prepare for my crazy.

I Say a Little Prayer for You

This week I’ve been thinking a lot about prayer.  Don’t worry this isn’t about to get too religious or too political or even too mushy into my trials and tribulations.  I’ve just been thinking about the act of praying and how it makes people uncomfortable to pray in public.

I miss prayer in school.  I miss football games not starting with an invocation.  I miss seeing ball players take a knee and bow their heads.

My personal prayer life is a little bit more like a long ongoing conversation.  It’s a personal conversation with God.  But I find something truly peaceful about praying formally too.  I find that a calm washes over me when I recite the Lord’s Prayer at church.  I am not Catholic but I assure you that I’ve said my fair share of Hail Marys.

So, why don’t we pray publicly? If it calms someone as crazy as me down, I think it could do wonders for a crowd.   I don’t think we necessarily have to pray to the same God.  I have a friend that is teaching her young son to pray.  She wants him to make his own choices about religion and faith, but right now as a young boy – she wants him to understand that at night it is healing to bow your head and show gratitude for the blessings in your life.  He is quite little – so I think he prays to spaghetti right now.  None the less,  he thanks spaghetti for him mom, and his dad and grandparents and anything else he can think of.  I like his style.

I just kind of miss starting off big occasions with a prayer – a nod to the man above that we are about to do something big and we’d like him involved.  And I can tell you that I still find it sexy when a man removes his hat for a prayer or the National Anthem.

I went to Aushwitz a few years ago with my cousin.  We visited Poland especially to go and experience this part of history.  It was without a doubt the most important historic site I have ever seen.  But each time we walked into a building where so many had lost their lives, Ryan took his hat off.  Made me proud that he’d been brought up that way.

But that’s just it… isn’t a prayer… simply a moment to stop and show respect.  To stop and show gratitude for what we received.  I know I joke about praying for Mack Brown and Will Muschamp and this year, I’ll be praying for Gilbert’s arm… but I love UT football, so I stop and say thanks for sending great men to be a part of something I love.

My daily prayers are wrought with questions, sometimes filled with begging for answers, and that’s not really what I am talking about today.  Today, I am talking about the simple act of bowing our heads, stopping for a moment, breathing in, and saying thanks.  I think we could all use more of those moments.

I think there should be prayer in school.  I think there should prayer at sporting events.  I am pretty sure there is prayer in war (though I hope to never find out for sure) and I think there should be prayer before we do just about anything.  It doesn’t have to be to my God.  Pray to spaghetti, pray to Buddha, pray to whoever you want.  If you don’t believe in God… well then tell me what’s wrong with simply stopping for moment to be grateful?  So maybe we don’t call it prayer, but I just can’t find anything wrong with the act of stopping to say thanks – for whatever you are grateful for…like Mack Brown, Will Muschamp, converting on 3^rd down, and this blog.